


One Day

by StarlingGirl



Category: Alexander (2004)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-03
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-18 01:10:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1409425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarlingGirl/pseuds/StarlingGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I promise you, one day I will beat you, Hephaestion," he says solemnly after their master has pulled them apart, urged Alexander to accept his loss with dignity. He means those words, and from the the look on Hephaestion’s face, his friend believes him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Day

**Author's Note:**

> Having gone through my Alexander/Hephaestion stage back when I studied them at university, I've accidentally fallen back into it and I can't get up.
> 
> May have taken a few historical liberties in the name of fiction.

They are ten years old and there is sand in Alexanders eyes and mouth as Hephaestion uses the weight of his body to push him to the ground. He does his best to struggle, but his friend seems able to know his movements before he makes them. Everything he tries is useless, and despite his fierceness, he finds that he cannot win.

Alexander is not used to losing.

"I promise you, one day I will beat you, Hephaestion," he says solemnly after their master has pulled them apart, urged Alexander to accept his loss with dignity. He means his words, and from the the look on Hephaestion’s face, his friend believes him.

* * *

>   
> They are eleven years old and the nursemaid has caught them with handfuls of pomegranates, stolen from the kitchens by small hands and fast fingers. When she takes them both by the ear, the fruit falls to the floor, rolling this way and that as they both struggle against the sharp pain of her grip. It is not the first time they have been caught in their mischief together.
> 
> "It was my idea!" Hephaestion cries, even as his hands scrabble against hers. "I made Alexander help me—!"
> 
> She doesn’t believe him, but Alexander appreciates the effort and — young though he is — he will remember it.

* * *

They are twelve years old and sprinting through the corridors of the palace at Pella, feet sliding across cool marble floors. Alexander wears a helmet — too big for him, so that it falls over his eyes no matter how many times he pushes it back — and Hephaestion is swathed in coloured cloths, another wound around his head with his long hair escaping from under it as he runs. They both carry sticks and their shouts echoing through the rooms is the only thing that allows anyone to get out of their way before they barrel through.

To their minds, they are a sheikh and a fierce warrior, locked in deadly combat. They will be bruised tomorrow, as they become too tied up in their game to notice how hard their 'swords' are thrust into each other's ribs as Hephaestion slides to a halt and turns to face his attacker head on.

Even now, Hephaestion will not let Alexander win.

* * *

 

> They are thirteen years old and Hephaestion is hanging back, eyes wide in something that might be awe, watching as Alexander whispers to the horse that he has named Bucephalus.
> 
> "It’s alright, Hephaestion. He is a gentle beast, really; it was fear that made him wild."
> 
> Hesitantly, the young boy inches forward. He freezes when the horse tosses its head, rolls its eyes and lets out a snort — but Alexander runs a hand down his neck and whispers softly, and Bucephalus soon regains his calm.
> 
> A few more steps and Hephaestion is right in front of the horse; they eye each other with the same degree of nervousness, both shifting gently on their feet.
> 
> "Come now, Hephaestion," Alexander says gently,and takes his hand. "Fear can only hold men back, and we have no choice but to stare it in the eye."
> 
> He places Hephaestion’s hand on Bucephalus; nose, and smiles as the horse whickers softly and Hephaestion moves closer. In a few weeks, the horse will allow itself only two riders - the prince, and his friend.

* * *

They are fourteen years old and whispering to each other under the shade of a sycamore tree when Ptolemy finds them. He tugs at Alexander’s cloak and tells him that the girls are swimming in the lake — that he and Nearchos have found the perfect place to watch them from.

"Spying will no more endear you to them than your face does already," comes Alexander’s retort, and Hephaestion laughs.

"Tell me that again when I am married," Ptolemy scoffs, "and you are alone, aside from Hephaestion. He will make you a fine wife, Alexander!"

Hepahestion has never let Alexander win, and neither does he afford Ptolemy the luxury; he holds off on mercy until he has his knee in the older boy’s back and his cheek pressed to the dirt, and Ptolemy is shouting ‘Pax! Pax! I take it back—!’

* * *

 

> They are fifteen years old and Hephaestion, all long limbs that are growing faster than his clothes can keep up, is sprawled across Alexander’s bed as his friend paces the floor.
> 
> "How can she talk about marriage, Hephaestion? I am barely a man and already she has my whole life planned out for me. To her mind I am mere months away from the throne — and with my father with so many years left in him. Marriage——!"
> 
> Hephaestion is silent for a moment. Even now, as a teenager, he is careful of his words, thinking them over before he lets them fall from measured lips.
> 
> "It seems to me that for all these worries, you are concerned with only one."
> 
> Alexander looks as though he might protest, but then heaves a defeated sigh, and sprawls himself next to his friend on the bed. He stares up at the ceiling and Hephaestion stares at him; both with gazes that are focused and yet a little far away at the same time.
> 
> "I am too young to marry," he says. "I will marry when I have made something of myself."

* * *

 

They are sixteen years old and the sun is warm against their skin, the sand under their feet almost too hot to stay still for more than a moment.

They circle each other warily, and where Alexander’s face is serious, determined, there is a smile in Hephaestion’s eyes that serves to drive his friend mad. And perhaps that is the point, for when Alexander makes a noise of frustration and lunges forward, Hephaestion is already out-stepping him with a laugh.

By the time either of them get a grip on the other, there’s a fine sheen of sweat across their skin — Hephaestion’s hair, pulled back to the nape of his neck, clings to his back. A droplet of moisture rolls between Alexander’s shoulderblades, traces the valley of his spine.

And then they’re on the ground against the hot sand that sticks to them as each of them tries to find leverage on the other. The match is almost even, and it turns this way and that — one moment Hephaestion with the upper hand, the next, Alexander.

Alexander knows with a grim certainty that he’s going to lose again, as he has every other time the two have pitted themselves against each other. And yet, he has never been one to accept defeat, even in the face of the inevitable.

On and on, until Alexander’s hand slips, his palm running up Hephaestion’s spine in a strange parody of intimacy that pulls them closer in their struggle.

Hephaestion’s eyes fly wide in surprise, his focus wavers, and the damage is done — he finds his face in the sand and his arm twisted around behind his back, struggling helplessly in a tableau that is the fulfillment of the promise Alexander made to him all those years ago.

"You win!" he cries, trying to keep the sand from working its way onto his tongue. Alexander lets him go, and when Hephaestion rolls onto his back, exhausted, the look of triumph on the prince’s face is indescribable.

"I told you I would beat you one day, Hephaestion," he grins, and Hephaestion, chest heaving, closes one eye to squint up against the blinding light at the figure towering over him — sweat-slick and covered in sand, brown eyes shining down almost brighter than the sun.

"You have beaten me," Hephaestion agrees, and there’s something coiling tight behind his sternum, pressing itself into the very bones of his body so that it will be with him always.

                   ”You have won me over completely.”

 


End file.
